


Thirty-seven

by iggycat



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-27
Updated: 2013-12-27
Packaged: 2018-01-06 09:56:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1105430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iggycat/pseuds/iggycat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur had always hated time, which was rather unfortunate considering it would follow him his whole life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thirty-seven

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. Rights go to the respective owners. Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya.

Arthur had always hated time, which was rather unfortunate considering it would follow him his whole life. There were clocks everywhere reminding him of the one thing he hated so: on his phone, on the office wall, on the oven and on his computer. But the worst clock was the one Arthur carried with him, the one he wore on his wrist.

Every person in the world was given a watch at birth. As soon as a baby was cleaned off and sure to be healthy, it was tradition to have the mother snap the special time piece onto their tiny wrists. The watch would come to life and set itself with a number of years, days, hours, minutes and seconds. The watch was not an ordinary one. It did not tell the time of day, but it did count down until the day the infant was bound to meet their soul mate.

"Blast it!"

Arthur dropped the screwdriver and held his wrist. It was another unsuccessful attempt to get the damn thing off.

"Arthur? Are you all right?"

He wetted a washcloth and wiped away the blood from his wrist, then applied pressure.

"I'm fine, Mum. Just stepped on a tack."

"How many times have I told you to clean that room of yours? Now it's causing you injury."

Arthur rolled his eyes and mopped away the rest of the sticky residue on his wrist. He picked up the screwdriver and hid it away in one of his drawers, trying not to glance at clock but being unable to. 22 years left. 22 bloody long years. He bit his lip and dug the screwdriver out of the drawer to try again. He needed to get the damn thing off.

* * *

"Hey 37!"

Arthur cringed as he picked up his pace a bit.

"Where are you going? It's not like anyone's waiting for you."

Arthur tried to ignore the bully, but when the other boy grabbed his shoulder and pushed him into the wall, he couldn't quite help it.

"It's rude to ignore people when they're trying to have a nice conversation with you, 37."

Arthur looked away and mumbled an apology. Of course it would be Hugh who stopped him. Hugh whose watch was set for 17 years and had run out just last week. Arthur glanced up and down Hugh's wrist and cursed it's nakedness. Whenever a watch expired, it would fall off a person's wrist and was generally kept as a memento until the wedding was to take place.

"Hey, I'm talking to you!"

Arthur had zoned out for a fraction of a second and in that time Hugh had grabbed his wrists and pinned them over his head. He banged Arthur's watch into the wall several times before he forcefully pulled his arm down and out. Arthur shrieked at the popping sound his shoulder made.

"That must hurt, huh, 37?" the bully mocked, but Arthur refused to meet his eyes. "But you know what hurt's even worse? Being alone."

A group of students had gathered around the two of them now, several pointing at the shorter blonde boy and whispering things like "That's the kid that's nearly 40!" and "My mother told me to stay away from him, that's not natural." As hard as Arthur tried to tune them out of his mind, it was Hugh's corrosive voice that managed to burn through his thoughts.

"Should we check how long you've got, 37?" he asked, slamming Arthur's wrist into the wall again and then ripping it forward once more to read the numbers. "20 years, 47 days, 18 hours 26 minutes and 9 seconds," he said smirking and finally let go of Arthur's wrist. "20 more fucking years, 37. That's double what most of us have to wait!"

Hugh smiled and punched Arthur not-so-lightly in the shoulder.

"Don't worry though, that means you have even more time to pick out your wedding dress!" he laughed as he turned and walked away. Some of the other kids giggled and snorted at the joke, but Arthur just bit the inside of his cheek and quickly got himself back in order. He fixed his hair and ignored the taunts from some of the freshman girls.

"We'll have died and gone to heaven, by the time someone screws 37!"

Arthur walked faster and bit his cheek harder, nearly to the point of bleeding. He hated school and he hated life. Why had his watch set itself for 37 years when most people's expired at around 20? He was a joke, the laughing stock of the entire school and nobody dared befriend the boy who had an unnatural wait time.

"I hate time," Arthur murmured to himself as he found himself in his next class. Within minutes he was picking at his watch once more, trying to pry it off.

* * *

"Arthur!"

The short boy, now quite a bit taller and not much of a boy, turned and smiled at his friend.

"Matthew, I thought you had a 1 o'clock class."

Matthew grinned as he took a seat at the table with Arthur and snatched up one of his chips.

"I do but I'm not terribly interested in intro to economics."

Arthur laughed and took another bite out of his sandwich.

"No? You should be, seeing as you don't seem to understand the basics."

Matthew raised a brow as he popped another chip in his mouth.

"When you invest a large amount of money in something, as you're doing with your university education," Arthur insinuated with a chip. "You generally want to make the most of that investment. Perhaps by attending class."

Matthew rolled his eyes but smiled at his friend.

"Maybe you should major in economics then."

"I suppose I could," Arthur pondered as he rest his elbows on the table and his chin in his palm. He didn't realize as his shirt cuff slid down his wrist and revealed his watch. Matthew caught sight of it and by the time Arthur realized his mistake it was too late.

"Arthur what's wrong with your wa-"

"Nothing, absolutely nothing," he responded, fiddling with his shirt sleeve and looking away.

"But Arthur it's completely black, what happened to it?"

"I said it was nothing, Matthew. Let it be!"

Arthur had started to sweat by now. He felt ill as he quickly gathered his belongs together. He stood and Matthew reached out toward him.

"Arthur-"

But the man didn't turn around. He felt horrible about blowing up in front of his friend, but he felt even worse about the fact that he'd just revealed one of his biggest secrets.

Matthew's question had prompted terrible memories in Arthur's mind. The constant taunting and bullying in high school to the point where Arthur had been absolutely determined to get the damn watch off his wrist. Countless times Arthur tried, and countless times he failed. Eventually he learned that there was no way to get the device off so Arthur did the next best thing: he cracked his watch and stained it with ink so it became unreadable. He glanced at his watch and shivered. Now he'd never know how much time was left.

* * *

Sometimes Arthur regretted his choices in life. He regretted not being more social when he was young and he was particularly remorseful over abandoning Matthew after the incident. He had hid from him for the last year of university, and every now and then he felt a pang of guilt for walking out on the one person who had genuinely tried to form a friendship. But university was over and had been for awhile. Arthur had majored in creative writing, and that was one of the few choices he never did regret. He'd had to work several odd jobs at the beginning when fresh out of college, but he got lucky when he sent in one of his manuscripts to a publishing company. They'd picked it up right away and now Arthur was writing the sequel to a bestselling novel. That was mostly why Arthur never regretted his major, he'd landed a job that involved very scarce human contact and he liked it that way.

Yet while his job did save him from social interactions for most of the time, he was never impervious to them. As he stepped into his local grocer he ducked his head and prayed that no one recognized him from the picture printed on the back cover of his book.

Arthur did his shopping quickly. He crossed each item off his list and bypassed several woman and men with loaded carts full of food. Arthur assured himself he was lucky he could get his shopping done so rapidly since he was only shopping for one, but a tiny and anxious voice in his head whispered otherwise.

Arthur made his way to the front of the store and looked to see if there were any do-it-yourself cash registers. There weren't, of course, and in fact there was only one register open. Arthur sighed and got in line behind a young women as she loaded up her goods. He wasn't paying much attention as the male cashier and the woman exchanged pleasantries but he did turn his head when he heard two clicks, followed by the sound of something falling to the floor. It couldn't be.

The woman gasped and the man yelped excitedly as he picked his watch up off the floor.

"I can't believe it! This is great! My name's Thomas."

"Julia," the woman responded happily as she picked up her own watch. She turned and looked behind her to see if anyone had caught the very personal moment but there was no one there, just a lonesome basket of groceries.

* * *

Arthur started staying home even more than usual. He'd order food in more frequently and only ever left the house in drastic circumstances. He liked the comfort and solitude of his apartment. There was no need to ever leave his cozy flat.

This continued for several years. Arthur stayed cooped up and avoided people at all costs, but that was good, Arthur thought. It gave him more time to concentrate on his work. In fact, in all the time that Arthur had stayed confined by his pale green walls, he was able to turn out three more novels and was working on a forth. He was a relatively well known author by now and every once in awhile he would receive requests for book signings or something of the like, but he wasn't expecting what he found in his inbox late one Tuesday night.

_Mr. Kirkland,_

_My name is Alfred Jones and I am both a reporter and the features editor of the local paper. I'm working on a story regarding your upcoming book and I wanted to know if you'd consider allowing me an interview. It would be brief, no more than 15 minutes, and I promise no trick questions._

_Thank you for your time,_

_Alfred Jones_

_Features Editor_

Maybe Arthur should have thought it was a bit odd that he was only just now being asked to be interviewed, but for some reason he didn't. As disinclined as Arthur was to have a conversation with the reporter, he knew it would likely reflect poorly on him if he failed to cooperate. After a few minutes of inner turmoil he came to terms with himself and emailed the reporter back replying that so long as the interview was brief, it would be fine, and that Alfred should set up a time to call him.

If he hadn't anticipated the initial email, then Arthur certainly wasn't prepared for the reply.

_Mr. Kirkland,_

_Thank you for agreeing to answer a few of questions. However, I never hold interviews over the phone. I feel that I get a better sense of the story if I'm able to hold the interview in-person. Would you mind allowing me to hold this interview over lunch this Friday? My treat._

_Alfred Jones_

_Features Editor_

Arthur bit lip as he finished reading through the email. An in-person interview? He wasn't sure if he could stomach that. He hadn't eaten out for over two years, and he wasn't sure that he really wanted to start up that interaction again. But on the flip side, he'd already agreed to the interview and he certainly didn't want to damage his pride by cancelling on the reporter now. After spending 10 minutes mentally preparing himself, Arthur typed up a response, letting Alfred know that he would indeed meet him for the interview on Friday.

* * *

Arthur couldn't remember the last time he was this nervous. It almost felt like the first day of school again as he started to panic. What if Alfred asked him about his private life? What if he asked about his friends or his romantic life? What if the reporter asked about his watch? He subconsciously fiddled with his shirt sleeve, quickly starting to regret agreeing to the interview.

Arthur had taken the long way to get to the restaurant, biding himself a bit more time, but he now found himself in front of the small Italian ristorante where the reporter had asked him to meet. He bounced on the balls of his feet for a few moments before he gathered up the courage to walk inside. He made his way to where a waiter was situated at a podium.

"Excuse me is there a Mr. Jones here?" Arthur asked, ignoring the slight tremble in his voice. The waiter didn't seem to notice as he pointed to a table by the window. Alfred's back was to him, but from where Arthur stood he could tell he was a blonde, and dressed in a navy suit. Arthur took another deep breath, now not only nervous of what the reporter might ask, but also because he might be underdressed. He exhaled and sealed his fate as he made his way over to the table.

"I'm sorry I'm late," Arthur rushed out as he found himself in front of Alfred. "Time got away from me."

The reporter who had been fiddling with something on his phone quickly stood up and smiled. He held out a hand.

"No problem. I know time can be a bitch."

Arthur returned the man's smile and shook his hand. What immediately followed was unexpected.

There was two clicks, and the watch on Alfred's wrist fell down into the water glass that was positioned right below. At the same time, Arthur's fell into his sleeve and then slid out, falling onto the table. Both men exchanged wide-eyed glances before Alfred let loose a blinding smile.

"I guess there'll be a lot more lunches on me, huh?"

Suddenly 37 years didn't feel so long.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Standing Still](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1622933) by [flybynight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flybynight/pseuds/flybynight)




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